


The Fading Light

by crypt_mirror



Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, DCEU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Bottom Clark, Established Relationship, Ladyhawke elements, M/M, Magical Elements, Sleeping Beauty AU, Sleeping Beauty Elements, Somnophilia, because this fandom needs it, belated birthday gift more like birthday gift redux, yes once again---dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 06:14:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9422108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crypt_mirror/pseuds/crypt_mirror
Summary: Batman and Superman are cursed by Luthor.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Albilibertea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Albilibertea/gifts).



> For Albi. Because the fic I wrote for your birthday is trapped in editing limbo. I didn't want to keep you hanging. So sorry. So heres another fic for you. Now a very belated birthday gift, or think of it as a Lunar New Year gift, now?

 

Bruce Wayne. The Batman. The Dark Knight. Once again another night was about to end. Once again defeat washed over him, the all too familiar taste of it acrid as bile. Outside the cave, vestiges of dawn start at the horizon, he does not have much time.

He opened a hidden chamber of the cave, where faint sunlight could filter through a skylight. In the middle of the sparse room was a bed. In the middle of the bed lay Clark. Cold. Eyes closed in deathlike sleep. A gold collar on his neck embedded with a green jewel unlike any other--- Kryptonite.

The Justice League had defeated Darkseid with the help of the Green Lantern Corp and sent him far away. In the chaos of the Darkseid War, Lex Luthor had escaped from Belle Reeve.

Lex Luthor who had despised any inhuman power, any form of divinity-- in a stroke of sheer and utter madness even for him, summoned an ancient Demon. He laid the world at its blood-soaked feet and struck a deal with the creature. Barely recovered from the Darkseid War, the heroes renewed their fight. The Demon and Luthor proved to be a formidable foe, it was a long and bloody fight and in the midst of it all, Luthor’s hate for Batman and Superman had festered.  

The Demon had divined that Superman and Batman were lovers and Luthor who had always lusted after Superman found perverse pleasure in exploiting this. Luthor thought that simply killing them was a scheme only for simple minds. As part of his pact with the Demon he married science and magic and devised a curse; 

“If you cannot be mine, no one else can have you!” Cursed to sleep while the other is awake. He cursed Superman to wear the Kryptonite collar enchanted with foul magics to subvert his powers. “Wear the collar or the Bat will be stricken dead.”

“We’ll find a way, Bruce.” Clark said urgently as his last breath passed his lips, before he fell unconscious into Bruce’s arms.

Superman and Batman were able to avoid capture. Bruce knew not to doubt the veracity of the curse. Luthor, mad as he might be was never one who dealt out empty threats. And so life began to take a perverted reality. In the daytime, Clark was awake working with other heroes that have gone underground. When night came, life was unmercifully sapped out of him and he would fall into the deathlike sleep, while Bruce awoke from his own cursed sleep. Ever the Dark Knight he continued to watched over Gotham and over Clark.

Two years had passed. Once again as it has been all this time, he stood by Clark’s bed as the night was about to end. He kissed Clark, the ever present pain in his chest gripped harder, heavier when he felt how cold and lifeless he was in this state of sleep. His complexion sallow, his body; frail, skeletal-- a corpse.

Neither of them had given up on finding a way to end the curse, but their efforts had been futile. Various attempts by Batman’s network of magi and occult users resulted in Batman being temporarily thrown to a different dimension and Clark almost ripped apart by magical forces. This curse was meant to break them. Bruce had long been broken, he was alive, but a part of him wished he had died; yes, it was shameful to admit it, but to be in the mercy of this curse, to be at the mercy of _Luthor_ was worse. And Clark…

The Justice League had splintered. Diana had gone on a quest to find answers. While most of them just stayed in their own cities to protect them.

Heroes like Constantine and Etrigan had vanished. Darkness had taken over. For those that was still alive, the job of living was far more difficult. Earth was dying for only slivers of sunlight can pass through. The skies have been shrouded by the Demon with toxic clouds that rivaled those on Apokolips.

“This is your world now.” Lex laughed from the dark.

In his waking moments, Clark still fought. Fought in secret with the pockets of rebellion. Together with others delivered food and medicine to those who needed it. He continued to be a Superman even as his strength was not like before. Even as the lack of the strength giving sun took its toll on him. Bruce found the bloody bandages he tried to hide. The one thing he could not hide was the injuries that left its worrisome tale on his body. Every day without fail he would leave notes before he slipped into the cursed sleep, written in that careful hand that could only be his, brushing off his injuries. Don't worry, it looks worse than it really is, he wrote. They also had hidden a small digital recorder, for the other to find. It was the only thing that held together the frail remnants of Bruce’s sanity. 

He would take the small device, hold it in his hand and try to imagine Clark holding it earlier, sometimes he would think he could still feel Clark’s warmth on it. Bruce would squeeze it tight hoping it will be the same for Clark; then there were days he derided himself for such a delusion.

He cued in another recording----

“---Hey”—he could hear the smile in the soothing timbre of his voice, “Remember that day, you said you wanted to go to lunch.  And I said sure, and I thought it was some restaurant around the neighborhood that you liked. Some neighborhood—Paris…. For lunch _…._ ”

_Because I wanted to impress you. How could somebody like me deserve someone like you. Talk about dating challenges._

Bruce never left messages like these. Not for lack of trying, he would start but then that swirling despair would just catch at his throat—that usually won out. Then he’ll just end up leaving stuff that was utterly unromantic. And Clark would just laugh and tease him. After all this time, he never dealt very well with loss.

Clark’s voice came on once again. “Lo says hi. Tomorrow, I’ll be at Metropolis then Nightwing needs help to move some cargo…” Cargo meant people. They still had to be careful even with all the safeguards.

“---Please don’t let them take away what we have...” Clark had said on the last one.

Bruce would feel that all too familiar ache inside him and that pride-- that's Clark, _his Clark_ ; the Clark that had enough hope for both of them.

 " _Well at least we’re not trying to kill each other,” Clark had whispered in his ear. They were at the back of the Maybach grinding on each other after some formal reception, kissing messy intense kisses. Two big men in a small space, too horny and too lost in each other to care._

Nobody ever said it out loud, but there was always that feeling they were living on borrowed time. Bruce had once said all it would take was a lucky bullet and he would be a large pool of blood in some dark pavement somewhere. Clark chuckled. _The possibility of anyone getting a drop on you, Bruce._

And of course, Clark was Superman, invulnerable most of the time, but vulnerable in so, so many ways. He was the guy who went to space to catch some runaway space station or stop entire islands from sinking into the sea. It was largely because of him that they defeated Darkseid. Yet he was also the subject of several government black ops projects that devised ways to kill him--- just because he was powerful. It didn’t matter that he was good, because in their eyes nothing that powerful can ever be good. Apparently paranoid nihilism suits the government perfectly fine too. Clark was of course aware of these things, yet he understood. But that understanding came with painful resignation. Not being trusted still hurt. Still it will never stop him from doing what he does. It was a balance, and it made everyone feel safe. Hell, Clark even knew he had safeguards against him, “If ever something happens Bruce. I want you to be the one to stop me.”

Love. Bruce knew he made him vulnerable too.

He cued in another message--- “Gordon asked if you could meet him at the Mills. The usual time….”

After putting the recorder away, he slid next to Clark. His fingers felt the long scar on Clark's stomach from a deep knife wound two months ago. Tonight, Bruce was relieved he just came home with bruises. Some nights he wasn't so lucky. At least nobody took a piece of him.

 _So, I'm a little bit more human now, it's ok Bruce. I'm alive here... with you._  

Bruce handled the collar in his hand, he slipped two fingers underneath it and gave it a tug. _Every fucking night_. It wasn’t long until his own cursed sleep will take him and Clark would wake again. 

 _He could feel his warmth under the collar_. Its twilight.

A thought occurs, perhaps it was something that has been there all along. Maybe it just needed this one moment of hopelessness, one more night of Clark being so close yet so far. Maybe he couldn’t do this anymore.

He kissed his cold lips long and hard. Clark will hate this, Clark had begged him never to do this. But somewhere deep inside him, Bruce has accepted this as a possibility. They needed to win.

“I’m sorry, Clark.” Sorry because he could not find a way to win for both of them, isn’t that supposed to be what he could do? Sorry because the world has people like Luthor  who only wanted to destroy because of some skewed view of power and authority because of a cruel Father. Sorry because he was giving in. Giving up.

Clark should not be in this darkness. He was the one that was made for the dark.

His light had saved him once, saved all of them. Now, it was his turn.

“I love you.” He grasped the cold, cursed collar in his hands and pulled, its clasps come apart after resisting-- the green stone flashed blindingly angry before it faded back to its usual verdant green. He lifted it off him and with all his might threw it far against the cave walls. He listened to the satisfying impact it made against concrete.

He watched Clark while he held his hands. Soon the curse will take effect. He will die here next to him. Clark will probably think he’s asleep, until he'll realize what he had done.But at least he could save the world once more.

With the collar gone, Bruce saw a transformation take place. Despite, the fatality of his decision, his chest lifted for he gets to see his beautiful face one last time. The deathlike sleep was ending. His color was quickly coming back, once sallow now vibrant. Clark was glowing, radiant as the sun. His body regained its substance, his injuries fading.. once again a Superman. Yet he still slept.

Bruce claimed his sleeping lover’s mouth. Everything melted away. His mouth was so warm. Feeling that warmth again after all that cold was almost overwhelming. A breath echoed around him. As he kissed him with a fierce, possessive kiss, his hand slid over his chest, over his nipples, they peaked under his touch, bringing more memories.

Bruce needed this one ‘I don’t give a fuck moment’ and lets go. He stripped himself then placed a hand in between Clark’s legs, he is warm there too.

He stroked him, the wonderful feel of his cock, hardening and lengthening… intoxicated him. He pressed himself against him and trailed kisses along his neck, sucking and biting his firm skin, knowing that those will disappear once he wakes.

“I’m sorry…I miss you,” he rasped into his ear, brokenly.

The Dark Knight is quietly thankful he is still alive. Maybe this twilight will grant them this time, another cruelty. But God, the feel of him underneath him as he molded himself against his hard body, splintered him even as it enflamed him, it’s been too long time since he held him this way.

Bruce made a strangled sound as he felt Clark’s cock, his slit is wet with precome. He is so hot--- hot and so ready to fuck. Somewhere in his head he is struck by the obscenity of it all. But he was a dying man, this is his last meal. He laughed at that imagery. His breath gusted over Clark’s slightly parted lips.

Bruce undressed him. After he spread Clark’s legs far apart, he placed a pillow under his hips. He grabbed the lube and thumbed his puckered hole. Clark shuddered under him. Even in this sleep his body responded. Bruce groaned and shuddered with him too.

“Wake up. Wake up. Look at me. One last time, please." Still Clark’s eyes were closed and his body slack.

Thoughts of somnophilia skittered across his head, even as he slicked himself.  He accepted that he had passed rationality a long time ago, he is after all already damned. He pushed in gently into Clark’s tight warmth. Eyes still closed, Clark moaned.

“Can you feel... It's me.” He whispered more urgently this time.

Clark’s moans, almost pushed him to the edge, he plunged deeper inside, a hand on Clark’s cock. Fully impaled inside Clark, the pleasure almost overwhelmed him, this was so wrong, but this is where he belongs. Deep inside Clark. For the first time in a long time he made a wish. Hardened all these years in a futile war, he wished that maybe Clark would forgive him.

He dug his fingers into Clark’s thick thighs, he missed how they would hold him—the solid feel of them against his body. The way they would draw him in. The way that it seemed like Clark could never let go of him and he of him. He pulled out and pushed back in, savoring that tightness along his entire length, he did this till he cried out and exploded within Clark, filling him. He pulled out of him slowly, still holding onto Clark’s cock, pumping him until he until he too comes, his hot cum all over his hand and stomach.

After his breathing evened out, he realized his cheeks were wet. Tears from guilt twinned with satisfaction. Yet, wrong as it may be, for a brief moment he felt whole again. This filled a void inside him. Clark…Clark…Clark. He needed this; selfish, possessive bastard that he is.  He wiped his hand on his discarded shirt then cleaned Clark.

He laid down next to Clark, a hand travelled across his chest languidly, feeling the smooth skin under his dark, downy chest hair. Bruce felt his eyes dimming. He fought to stay awake. He smiled at the thought of Clark finding him naked next to him. He’ll figure it out.

“Goodbye, Clark,” he murmured. “Win this for us _._ ”

He glanced up at the skylight, the twilight had crept back fully allowing the harsh shafts of daylight.

“Bruce.” Clark had woken up beside him, instantly alert, he knows something had happened.

His consciousness darkening, Bruce felt hands hold his face. The face of the one he loves fills his vision. Blue, unearthly eyes, one with a brown speck. Eyes that never failed to surprise and fascinate him since day one. Those eyes looking down at him tears welling within them, “What have you done?”

He sounded so broken and miserable, Bruce hated himself for doing this to him, but it needed to be done, “Clark…I’m sorry.” _This needed to happen._

The air whipped around him. Clark held the broken collar in his hands, the shock of what Bruce had done paralyzing him, he heard Bruce’s pulse slow to nothingness. Clark let out a wretched cry.

 

* * *

 

Sunlight. It was wonderful to feel his body drinking it once again high up in the atmosphere. It’s been too long since he felt so alive. Two years of darkness. All he had that time was a desperate hope and Bruce. That was enough for him to be alive, to be with Bruce in some way even as he slept the deathlike sleep at least he was there with him, they were together.

 

Floating down to the lowest layer of clouds he could see snow falling idly above the tristate along with daybreak. It was the first snow after the Darkness. The pristine flakes began to drift over Gotham’s gray. Big feathery flakes. The city was still mostly asleep, the quiet sigh of the wind gentling over it. Clark hovered above the city, for a brief moment he savored the feel of the falling snow; they were like cold, wet butterfly kisses on his skin.

 

It is such a different world now. It was never supposed to be this way. The death, the destruction… so many lost...all because Luthor wanted to win. Win against them.

 

Superman landed quietly outside Bruce’s safe house and super sped into Bruce’s room. Bruce adjusted his glasses as he looked up from his tablet, Clark caught hints of his favorite aftershave and a minute trace of gunpowder that lingered on his skin even after he showered. Out of habit he quickly X-rayed him--- good, aside from pulled muscles, he’s ok. Bruce knew exactly what he did. But he has taught himself to allow this from him. It's how Clark loves. There are worst things to tolerate in this world. He smiled at him.

 

Clark blurred into the shower then plopped next to him in the bed just wearing his boxers. Bruce’s hand ruffled his wet curls. Clark in turn planted a wet kiss on Bruce’s  lips. He coaxed Bruce to lie down on his stomach, while he pressed gently heated hands on the pulled muscles.

 

“How was your patrol.”

 

“Good. Gordon’s people have the East side under control.” Bruce replied distractedly still scrolling at the data on his tablet even as he was laying on his stomach.

 

Clark sighed lightly as he looked down on him. “It’s beautiful out there with the first snow. You should see it.”

 

“Maybe later.”

 

“You saved us, Bruce.”

 

Bruce stopped scrolling, turned and met his gaze. “Nothing noble about it. I was just a horny, old fuck, Clark.”

 

"No, you weren’t.” Clark said simply. They had talked about what Bruce did. What he was prepared to lose. It was a conversation that neither of them wanted to revisit.

 

An all too familiar chill crept up Clark’s spine. _You died._

 

The tide of the war had turned. Superman was super once again. Batman renewed his will to fight, just in time for Diana to come back from her quest with a thrice blessed sword. The Trinity was whole again.

 

Finally, Constantine showed up, after the League did all the hard work, in Bruce’s opinion. The magus blamed it on trying to acquire powerful magical forces they needed.

 

“I can't just pull these things out of my arse. Eh, Bruce?” Constantine mocked in that cockney accent of his. Clark had to stop Bruce from breaking his neck. The one thing he was good for, he took care of Luthor, threw him into some magical inter-dimensional max security prison. He could not be killed; the demon and him had become one.

 

“You two once again…with the dying.” Constantine muttered when everything was sorted out.

 

 Constantine in his disgusting coat that stank of sulfur, dead things and nicotine had survived a couple of journeys to some demon dimension, the perennial cigarette in between his lips, “Hey mate, at the end of the day something can still be said about the ‘power of love, or true love’s kiss’ and all that jazz…. buggerring Superman, who would’ve thought.” Even when neither Bruce or Clark never said what happened, trust Constantine to put two and two together in his twisted mind.

 

"It wasn’t that…” Clark protested. “We worked together…” A furious blush colored his face as soon as he let the words out.

 

“Together. I see.” Constantine smiled salaciously and puffed another cloud of nicotine into the air in front of Bruce's face. 

 

Bruce just shook his head. At that instant pain lanced within him hard and deep as he  remembered what happened. Clark’s terror when he “died.” According to Constantine, he was very dead at that moment perhaps not yet irreversibly so but still dead enough. 

 

“Bloody hell. Bruce, your little boyfriend found me when I got back and demanded I do something. I told him you pressed a mystical reset button, mate. Wait for another twilight, eh? Three days hence. That time in between. And your Bat boyfriend will be back. Lucky I was right, he'd have fried me with those pretty eyes of his.” Constantine winked suggestively at Clark. Bruce threw him a deadly glare. The sorcerer responded with a smirk and a 'fuck you' gesture at Bruce before disappearing into a portal.

 

There was still a lot of work that needed to be done in the wake of all the destruction. But for now as Clark sighed contentedly, he was here with Bruce, their hips and thighs touching, feeling the reality of him. This impossible man that he loves. Raw pain still raked within him from what Bruce did. Don’t you ever do that again; he thinks not for the first time, but doesn’t say it. He knows Bruce. And Bruce knows him.

 

 

 FIN

 

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired from Sleeping Beauty, the one written by Giambattista Basile which is of course way more hardcore than the Grimm one. Also from the movie Ladyhawke (1985). It has a cool storyline, but ahhh... the way they made movies then... and of course you have to tolerate the medieval disco soundtrack...
> 
> I've really wanted to include John Constantine in one of my fics!!
> 
> Albi... once again a very Belated happy Birthday and A Happy Lunar New Year!! Enjoy!
> 
> Hope you guys like this. Kudos and comments are appreciated because I live for them :))))


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